Sniper Elite - Answers
by 13en-writes-all
Summary: Three years after being betrayed by his commander, losing his two loyal squadmates and his left arm, former MARSOC sniper Guts is approached by the beautiful C.I.A. Agent Casca who offers him a chance at revenge. With a new arm, and the backing of the government he sets out to get answers. Rated M for violence, language, and later chapters...
1. The Betrayal

**Part 1 – The Mission**

2024, Kandahar Airfield, Hanger 19…

Marine Corps Special Operations Command (MARSOC) Raider Unit 519 otherwise known as the Hawks were playing basketball in the courtyard.

Wearing their ACU Sand-Brown tee shirts, TRU-SPEC ACU waterproof ECWCS pants, and Sierra Sole ACU Desert Tan Boots they were very quick to try and avoid each other.

Their CO, Major Griffith 'White Hawk' McCredie, the team's five-foot-ten silver-haired leader who you'd trust with your own sister quickly passed the ball to his team-mate for the match the team's combat medic, Corporal Judeau 'Joker' Able, the five-foot-nine blonde-haired boy from Brooklyn who passed up a scholarship at Columbia University to go straight into the Marine Corps to go into their medical program.

Judeau caught the ball, and bounced it once only to run head-first into Master Sergeant Pippin 'Bodyguard' Barber, the team's six-foot-three dark-haired communication's officer who was a walking wall of muscle who the team had seen take down an Asiatic Black Bear with his twelve-inch bowie knife and .44 Magnum Desert Eagle when it attacked them during extraction.

Judeau flopped backward onto the court as Pippin caught the ball as it bounced, he then bounced it off the ground, passing it towards Captain Guts 'Desert Eagle' McNeal, the team's six-foot-one brown-haired sniper and Second Officer who the team had seen score a 457-meter headshot from a moving helicopter.

Guts caught the ball as it came his way, and tossed it through the hoop, "Yea boy," he said as he walked up to his large team-mate, swung under his hand as he held it up, and slapped it as Pippin held his hand down.

"Nice one," Judeau said as he sat up, and rubbed the back of his head, "It was a good move having a walking wall on your team."

"Don't be a hater," Guts said as he and Pippin held out their hands to Judeau, and helped him stand upright.

"I'm with Guts," Griffith said, "We lost fair and square."

"Come on boss," Judeau said, "These guys are walking skyscrapers compared to us."

"That's what we need," Griffith said, "We need walking skyscrapers," he then reached up to wipe the sweat away from his brow, "Come on, let's get out of this heat."

"I'm with you there," Guts said.

The team walked back to their bunks which were housed inside of a manufactured structure built right next to hanger 15 which housed the team's transports.

As soon as they entered their bunks, Guts instantly removed his sweat-soaked shirt and tossed it into his clothes hamper before picking out another shirt.

"If only we had a few girls in here," Judeau said as he changed his own shirt, "We'd make a lot of money off then gawking at you, boss."

"What would we do with it," Guts asked, "We're in Afghanistan. It's not like there's somewhere we could take the money to spend it."

"We could send it back stateside," Judeau said, "See what we can do with it when we return."

"Hit Vegas," Pippin asked as he waved his partially-clenched fist left and right as if he was shaking a pair of dice in his hand, "Make a few big scores at the craps tables," he then waved his hand forward as if he was letting the dice fly.

"If it's alright with you boys," Griffith said, "I'd rather hit the slots," he grabbed hold of a handful of air like he was playing a slot machine, and pulled it downwards.

"I personally prefer the roulette wheel," Judeau said as he pinched a small section of air as if he was holding a pill (the name given to the balls people use to play roulette), and gave it a small flick.

"What about you Guts," Pippin asked.

"Personally," Guts said as he sat down on his bed, kicked off his boots, and laid back in his bunk, "I'd prefer the baccarat tables."

"Our boy is a James Bond fan to the last," Griffith said as he jumped up onto his bunk and picked up the Fallen Angle Cigar he was smoking before raising it to his lips and began smoking.

"You know those things are going to kill you one day," Guts said as he pulled out his PS Vita, and resumed his game on Duke Nukem the Presidential Campaign.

"Yea, I know," Griffith said as he exhaled the smoke, "But honestly who cares? We're Special Forces soldiers in the middle of a country where some want to kill us and many others don't pay us two cents."

"I hear you there buddy," Guts said.

"You ever wanted more out of life Guts," Griffith asked.

"What do you mean," Guts asked.

"You know," Griffith said as he put the cigar back in his mouth, "You ever want a life outside the military? A family? Some money? A nice place to live?"

"Maybe after I'm done with the Marines," Guts said, "Right now the world needs us. So does the Corps. I'm perfectly happy right where I am now."

"I guess," Griffith said, "I guess."

 _That evening_ …

Dressed in what they were wearing earlier, and now their TRU-SPEC ACU MultiCam combat shirts they sat in the hanger opposite from their quarters as General Kurt Malone began their mission briefing.

"This is a big one boys," General Malone said, "This is one of the biggest strikes we've undertaken since SEAL Team 2 hit the poppy fields in Helmand Province last year," the map zoomed in on the Wakhan Corridor of Afghanistan, "Based on intel provided to us by Major Griffith's sources in the area we know that the Taliban will be moving a convoy of supplies through the Wakhan Corridor. Additional intelligence gained by NATO intelligence officers puts a high possibility that senior commander Amir Lakhani will be overseeing the transportation."

"Sir, if I may," Guts said as he looked at the intel, "We're going to be awfully close to the borders of Tajikistan, Pakistan, and China. What's the possibility of intervention by either of the three countries?"

"We believe there's very little possibility of intervention from any one of these three countries," General Malone said, "Just in case we have a King Stallion and two Vipers on standby ready to provide extraction if need be. But let me be clear, under no circumstances are you to engage any Chinese, Pakistani, or Tajikistani troops if you encounter them. Is that going to be a problem?"

"No sir," Guts said.

"Good," General Malone said, "You infiltrate via two Little Birds, and hike the rest of the way to a small shack located here," he pointed at a small wooded area of the corridor where there were remnants of an old village, "From there you wait until the convoy passes through, from there the objective is pretty straightforward: destroy the convoy, and if possible, kill Lakhani. Any questions," none of them spoke up, "Good. Get your gear, wheels up in half an hour. Godspeed boys."

Gut's primary weapon was an Mk 12 Mod 1 he customized with a Harris Bipod, Leupold Mark 4 scope, a PEQ-15 IR designator, and a suppressor. His sidearm was an M45A1 with a beveled mag well and an under-barrel laser-pointer.

Griffith carried an MK 18 Mod 0 with an RIS foregrip, PEQ-15 IR designator, Aimpoint CompM2 red dot sight, and a suppressor. His sidearm was a Glock 19 with an attached red-dot sight.

Pippin's main gun was an MK 48 Mod 0 with an ACOG scope, PEQ-15 IR designator, a cloth ammo bag, and a suppressor. His sidearm was his custom .44 Magnum Desert Eagle with a vented compensator and an extended 10-round magazine.

Judeau always carried an MP5-N with a railed handguard, M68 red dot sight, and a suppressor. His sidearm was a Sig Sauer P320 with an under-barrel laser-pointer, and an ambidextrous safety-switch.

"Alright boys," Griffith said as they walked toward their helicopter, "Are we ready?"

"Yes sir," Guts, Pippin, and Judeau exclaimed.

"What are we," Griffith asked.

"Hawks," the three of them exclaimed.

"What's our motto," Griffith asked.

"Fly like an eagle," the three of them exclaimed, "Dominate with force!"

"Good," Griffith said as he hopped on the skids of the Little Bird that would take them to the corridor, "Mount up!"

As the three others jumped on the skids and clipped onto the side of the helicopter, they quickly slid their helmets on and strapped them into place.

The patches on the center of their vests was a black-bordered shield-shaped patch with a white sword with two wings that nearly reached the tip on a cobalt blue background.

They had also painted the white emblem on their helmets and had even made custom rings for each member on the trigger fingers of their dominant hands.

The flight from Kandahar to the Wakhan Corridor would take the team through several of the most beautiful, and most dangerous places in Afghanistan.

"Amazing place," Griffith said as they passed over the mountains.

"Indeed," Guts said, "It's what we fight for buddy. So that the people who live here can enjoy it without being afraid."

"Got that right," Griffith said as he held his hand out, which Guts grabbed.

It was about midnight (local time) when the team touched down, Griffith always had Pippin on point being as he almost completely dead-on with his aim on that large MK48.

Guts walked behind him with Griffith in between him and Judeau who was working rear security.

It took about an hour of walking to reach the location where they would set up their ambush.

"Alright," Griffith said as he pointed up at the structure, "Let's get in there, and set up a crow's nest."

As the four walked up the hill to the structure, Guts tapped his fist on his helmet twice.

Pippin grabbed the twelve-pound sledgehammer out of Griffith's backpack, and in one swing cracked the door in two pieces.

Judeau entered first and signaled the team in behind him.

Pippin entered next, followed by Guts and Griffith, "Clear," Guts said.

They quickly approached the door that led into the main room, and as they took cover, Guts signaled Pippin to breach the door.

Pippin smashed the handle off the door and kicked the door in.

As the four of them entered, bright lights suddenly blinded the team, causing the team to shield their eyes.

As their vision cleared they were each staring down the barrels of black-polymer Kalashnikov MA compact assault rifles.

As the team raised their hands, the soldiers standing in front of them pulled their guns away from them and dropped them on the floor.

"So nice of you to join us," a large male said as he walked out from behind the lights, he was at least six foot ten and was severely disfigured.

His face was heavily scarred by chemical burns, his nose was reduced to almost two holes in the center of his face, and he wore heavy-rimmed goggles.

"Who are you," Guts asked.

"Me," he asked, "I am known by many names: the skull, Scarface, terrorist, murderer, fanatic, but you can call me… Void."

"Well then… Void," Guts said, "What do you want from us?"

"You are the Hawks are you not," Void asked before walking over to Griffith, "Why don't you ask him?"

"Boss," Judeau asked, "What are they talking about?"

"Sorry boys," Griffith said as he walked over to stand beside Void.

"What's going on," Guts asked.

"I can't make you understand now Guts," Griffith said, "But maybe someday you will. I'm sorry."

"You son of a…" Guts began before him, Judeau, and Pippin were clubbed over the back of their heads with the butt-stocks of some kind of rifle.

The three of them fell to the floor, and as Guts slipped into unconsciousness he could see Griffith removing his helmet, radio, vest, and walking away from the team.

Guts awoke to hear command screaming in his ear, "Hawks are you there?! Hawks come in! You've got armed hostiles approaching your position!"

"This is Desert Eagle," Guts said as he reached up to his earpiece, "Where are the hostiles coming from?"

"Great to hear you Eagle," Command said over the radio, "The hostiles are approaching from the South East. We're getting nothing from White Hawk."

"Hawk fucked us," Guts said as he looked out the window to see the hostiles walking up the hill, "We need immediate Evac!"

"We dispatching your Evac as soon as we spotted those hostiles approaching," Command said, "Air support is in route as well. Be advised they're still at least half an hour out."

"Roger that command," Guts said as he picked up his rifle, and checked the magazine to see they had left the bullets in them.

He then ran up to his comrades and roused them.

 _Guess what happens_ …


	2. The Stand

**Part 2 – The Stand**

Judeau and Pippin were very quick to get their weapons, "That son of a bitch is going to have a lot to answer for when we find him," Judeau said as he stood ready at the window across from Guts, "Right Captain?"

"Damn right," Guts said as he prepared his rifle, then looked at Pippin who was kneeling beneath the open cutout in the structure, "Wait until they get closer, then fire. Save your ammo."

The hostiles kept coming closer despite them not knowing what was going on.

These kinds of situations reminded Guts of one of their missions into Pakistan where they were sent to extract a man with high-level terrorist connections.

Guts and Griffith sat in a café across the street from where their target was living, and when he came out to go shopping, the two of them moved in to grab him only to have their target bolt on them.

They gave chase, securing him inside of his compound just outside of Peshawar, only to find themselves surrounded by 'friends' of their target who came looking to get him out, or to collect his head.

After a fierce half hour gun battle Pippin and Judeau arrived in an undercover van to extract them, and push the hostiles back.

"On your shot," Judeau asked.

"Yep," Guts said as he looked out to see the Taliban fighters were within fifteen feet of the front.

Guts peered out from behind the cover of the window with Pippin and Judeau, with one squeeze of the trigger, the back of the forward-most Taliban fighter's head exploded in a pink mist.

Pippin squeezed the trigger, letting loose a tidal wave of lead that caused the forward-most hostiles to fall into a pile of bodies in front of their small bunker.

Judeau fired next, the 9mm bullets in his MP5 weren't going to do much against the hostiles if he fired on full-auto like Pippin was.

Then again the light machinegun is mean to be a suppressing weapon, not an actual killing weapon.

The hostiles jumped into the cover of the trees, which would have done magnificent against Judeau's MP5, but against Guts' MK 12 or Pippin's MK 48, not so much.

Zeroing in on another hostile, Guts held the sights on his scope just above the fighter's chest. When he popped out to let off a few rounds with his AKM, Gut's squeezed the trigger: the round tore through the white fabric of the hostile's shirt, the skin, and through the hostile's aorta. The impact from the bullet striking the hostile caused him to spin sideways, and flop dead against the ground.

Most times when you see someone getting shot in a movie, such as _Quigley Down Under_ (possibly one of the greatest western's ever) the impact from the bullet striking them sends them flying backwards which is not factual.

In order for someone to go flying after being shot it would also have to send the shooter flying backwards as well.

Another hostile popped out right next to his dead alley, after acquiring the target, he fired again, this time hitting the hostile in the right shoulder, knocking his grip clean from the rifle, and another bullet put him on the ground, dead.

Another one of the hostiles ran out of ammo in his rifle, and charged towards them, a grenade in one hand, and his bayonet-attached rifle in the other.

Judeau let loose two sprays of bullets into his chest, sending him falling to the ground, and causing him to lose his grenade which rolled backwards towards his comrades who reached down to pick up the grenade and throw it back, only to have it go off in his hand.

The hostiles kept coming at them as if they had a death wish, but then again three Americans against hundreds of them? Their chances of success were much greater than their opponents' chances.

Guts went to let off another round only to hear the clink as his magazine ran dry, "Changing mags," he said as he dropped the magazine out of his rifle, and reinserted a fresh one into his MK 12, then pulling back on the cocking drive, and continue firing.

"Hawks, this is Big Bird," the chopper pilot said, "We're less than ten minutes out."

"We might not have ten minutes," Guts said, "We are heavily outnumbered and are in danger of being overrun!"

"We'll see what we can do," the chopper pilot said, "Right now we're going as fast as we can."

As Guts rounded the corner to shoot, a long trail of bullets missed the top of his head by an inch but shattered the goggles mounted to his helmet.

"Shit," he said as he pulled the goggles off his helmet, and tossed it onto the floor.

"You alright Captain," Judea asked.

"You know it," Guts said as he popped out, and fired another round, the shot hit one of the Taliban fighters high on the left side of the chest.

The impact from the bullet spun the hostile around, causing him to fall on his gun, and the weight of him landing at an extreme angle cause him to empty his clip into the hillside.

It was then that Guts saw something he didn't want to see, "Boss," Judeau said.

"I see it," Guts said, "DOWN!"

The team ducked behind cover as one of the hostiles fired an RPG-7 at the building, the rocket took a section out of the top of the view-port, and showered the team in small debris.

"Sound off," Guts said.

"I'm good," Pippin said as he pushed himself up.

"I'm alright," Judeau said.

"Let's go," Guts said as he turned back to the window to see more fighters were coming up the hill.

The team went back to fighting, and as they were doing a magazine change, Guts heard someone screaming at the top of their lungs.

He peered out from behind cover to see a single fighter running toward them, two grenades in each hand, and an s-vest with exposed wires.

Guts tore his M45A1 out of the holster, and opened fire, the bullets tore through the fighter's arms before tearing a hole through his skull.

The grenades and the s-vest went off simultaneously, the resulting explosion sent Guts, Judeau and Pippin flying backwards.

Guts was stunned, but still managed to shake it off, he looked down only to what was left of his left arm from the elbow down looked like a slice of Swiss cheese, and all that was left of his hand was a few free-hanging tendons. There was also three pieces of rebar stuck inside him: one in his right shoulder, one in his left bicep, and one stuck just one inch below his collar bone, and one inch above his heart.

He also couldn't see out of his left eye, and there was blood trickling down his forehead, and from the multitude of shrapnel wounds on his arms, and the cuts on his face.

He looked over to see that Judeau and Pippin were just lying there, he could tell they were alive because they were still breathing, but they were most defiantly unconscious.

His Mk 12 was five feet away from him, but Pippin's MK 48 was right there in arm's reach.

Quickly picking up his friend's LMG, he knew that Pippin had just reloaded the gun so he didn't need to do a check.

He crawled over to the destroyed view-port, mounted the LMG on the window, and as the Taliban fighters saw him they raised their weapons only for Guts to unleash a salvo of bullets their way.

Some of them tried to raise their rifles, but it was too late as Guts started shooting off bursts into the crowd before they could while many of them tried to turn and run.

Guts had to look through the sights on the gun with his right eye meaning he had to keep the gun leveled against his shoulder while standing with one foot fully-extended behind him while the other one was bent at a ninety degree angle because he couldn't hold the LMG steady with his other hand.

The fighters just kept coming and coming, but he knew he was in danger of being overrun, there was no way he would be able to fend all of them off, even if he had use of his other arm, and if he could reach Pippin's ammo pouch.

It didn't matter because as soon as he saw the Taliban fighters advancing, the MK 48 ran out of ammo, and all Guts could do was grab his KA-BAR knife.

As the fighters ran towards the hut, Guts got a good grip on his knife, and gritted his teeth, preparing to go down fighting.

But he didn't need to, as soon as one of the fighters raised his rifle to fire, he was practically cut in half as 20mm rounds from the M196 three-barreled Gatling gun mounted to the bottom of one of the two Viper helicopters came spewing out the end of the gun at 1500 rounds per minute.

The other one unleashed several missiles from a rocket pod, and sent several flying.

Needless to say the Taliban fighters knew they couldn't win, and they took to their heels and ran.

Guts sheathed his knife, and walked back to sit next to his two team mates.

Guts pulled them close to him, Judeau was being held with his right while he was bleeding on Pippin's shoulder from his shredded arm.

"They're here now boys," Guts said, barley holding onto the last shred of consciousness he had, "We're going home. We're going home…" with that last word he passed out.

When he came to he was in an army hospital, where he didn't know, but one thing was for sure, he wasn't going back into the field.

His left arm was basically a heavily bandaged tree stump, his chest was covered in a thick cloth bandage, and when he reached up to his face his left eye was heavily bandaged.

"My, my, my," General Malone said as he walked up to the side of Guts' cot, "Sleeping beauty finally awake."

"General, sir," Guts said as he tried to sit up before General Malone put a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, easy there son," General Malone said, "The stitching is just barely holding you together."

"The mission wasn't a success sir," Guts said, "Griffith betrayed us."

"I know," General Malone said, "I sent the footage from your helmet cameras to the brass at the top. Unfortunately, he's in the wind: we have no idea where he is. But the mission wasn't a total loss."

"Sir," Guts asked.

"We've gone through all the bodies," General Malone said, "Aside from the ones that you killed with your rifle, we did a count with the ones you killed with Sergeant Barber's MK 48, and we've found over a hundred bodies that fell by your hand. Among them was Taliban commander Adon and his brother Samson," he held out a small letter to Guts, "Special delivery straight from Washington to one Captain Guts McNeal."

Guts opened the letter, and the opening of the letter read:

August 26th, 2024.

S I R:

In the name of Congress, the President of the United States takes pleasure in presenting the MEDAL OF HONOR to

GUTS MCNEAL, Captain, USMC.,

For service above and beyond the call of duty during the War on Terror (Afghanistan Conflict) as set forth by the following citation:

"For Extraordinary heroism in action  
in the Wakhan Corridor, near Wardi  
Afghanistan, August 24th, 2024.  
Captain McNeal held off an enemy  
advancement, refusing to abandon his  
comrades in face of certain death  
despite being gravely wounded."

For the President  
Mark Aspenov  
Commandant of the Marine Corps

"I'm to receive the Medal of Honor," Guts asked.

"You're moving up in the world," General Malone said, "You'll receive the medal when you return to Washington… and honorable discharge because of your injuries."

Guts' face dropped, "What about Judeau and Pippin," he asked.

"I'm sorry," General Malone said, "The blast that took your arm and eye caused serious concussions," he held out a small cloth, and inside were Judeau and Pippin's team rings, and dog tags, "The doctors did their best. Their families will be receiving their medals at your ceremony."

General Malone stood up and walked off, leaving Guts to turn onto his side, and expel tears from his only good eye, crushing the letter in his right hand.

 _Guess what happens next_ …


	3. Civilian Life

**Part 3 – Civilian life**

July 25th, 2027…

Guts awoke in a start, he found himself sitting in his bed, the blurry images he saw were a result of the tears that were welling up in his eyes. The fabric of his grey athletic pants and his black cloth tank top was drenched in sweat, stuck to every contour of his skin.

It seems only yesterday he awoke from his two-day coma in that hospital in Jalalabad, Griffith having betrayed them, and him being the only survivor of the battle that left over two hundred Taliban fighters dead, half of them by his hand. He was the proud recipient of the Medal of Honor, and his best friends in the entire world were dead.

His apartment was nicely accommodated and consisted of a large, open room with a large kitchenette with an adjacent bedroom in which he had a Grand King bed that was specially customized just for him, and a large computer that linked to his computer at his office. The bedroom connected directly to his bathroom which was made of black and white octagon-shaped tiles.

He reached up to rub his head with his other hand, the synthetic one he received from the Midland Tech company he began working as a security consultant for one month after returning home, before eventually becoming head of security for the company sometime last year.

He even had a synthetic eye made especially for him by the company and installed so it worked in perfect sync with his other eye.

Looking over at his clock, he saw that it was 5:42 A.M., he had to be at the office in about three hours, plenty of time to recover from his latest episode.

As he got to his feet he removed the sweat-stained tank top, and threw it onto the floor next to the shower, he then removed his pants and underwear.

As he turned on the water, the feeling of the warm water against his sweaty skin was very soothing, it was the same feeling he had after returning from a mission in Afghanistan, and washing the sand he was covered in off.

Following his shower he put on a fresh pair of underwear he walked into his living room, rubbing the back of his head with the towel he was given.

His next stop was the kitchen for the breakfast of champions: an instant omelet cup he simply cracked an egg into and prepared a cup of coffee.

As soon as the omelet cup was finished, he took the almost empty bottle of whiskey he took several glasses worth from last night and emptied the rest into the bottle into the cup.

Guts took a seat on his couch to turn on the TV, "News from Washington today, Secretary of Defense Andrew Diaz is interviewing several tech companies into the possibility of using mechanical augmentation as a means to further improve military special division operators in the field."

The vegetables in the cup were still crunchy, almost raw but he didn't care, he had about three hours on the nose to get downtown to his office.

His outfit for the day consisted of a pair of Chippewa Men's Rally euro motorcycle boots, some American eagle denim jeans, a black tank top, a white button-up shirt, and a Wilsons leather jacket.

Before leaving he made sure to secure his shoulder holster. The weapon he carried in the holster which was pure Tuscan leather was a custom Kimber Gold Combat RL II with rosewood grips, a bored chamber, Novak 1911 night sights, a three-hole combat trigger with a 5.5 lb. trigger pull, extended slide stops and release, beveled mag well, beavertail grip safety, and a combat hammer.

He made sure to leave his pistol in condition 3 which meant that the chamber was empty, the hammer was down, but there was a fully-loaded magazine in the gun.

The parking lot of his apartment was closed off, completely secure with one way in or out, and keycard protected.

Guts wasn't one to waste the six-figure salary they had him on: they originally had him on $250,000 a year as a Security Consultant. Then when he became Head of Security they bumped his salary up a little over $200,000 a year to almost $500,000 a year, but not exactly.

His car of choice that he'd had ever since he got his new job was a 1967 Corvette Stingray with genuine leather seats, power brakes and windows, soft ray tinted windows with a windshield, air conditioning, and a 427ci, 435hp engine. The car was painted satin black with a gloss-white hood scoop.

It was a sunny day in Chicago, that's why Guts had put on his gold-band ray-ban aviators.

As he pulled up at a set of lights, several girls in the adjacent car started whistling at him, he looked over at them, lowered his glasses before raising them back to his face, and continuing to drive towards his office.

The multi-story skyscraper headquarters of the Midland Tech company which was a circular building with two adjacent structures sticking out of the sides that went halfway up the building.

The parking garage at the office was completely closed off, most of the people that worked at the company were on a six-figure salary themselves and drove Mercedes, Audis, Land Rovers or some other car that was not exactly an ultra-luxurious supercar, but was in no way a second-hand car (unless it was a classic).

When he pulled up to the front gate of the garage, one of the guards greeted him with a smile, "Good morning boss," he said as he scanned the car.

"Morning Eddie," Guts said, "How's the wife and kids?"

"They're ok," Eddie said, "The wife's been bugging me to take her to Hawaii for our anniversary."

"You make enough to take her there," Guts said as the gate raised, "Come talk to me later this afternoon, and we'll see what we can do."

"Yes sir," Eddie said as Guts drove off.

It seems a client was in the office that day because there was a red Lamborghini in one of the guest parking spaces.

He pulled up in his designated spot and walked over to the elevator which was sectioned off from the garage.

His office was on the twentieth floor of the building, roughly twenty floors below the CEO's office.

His desk was made of a cherry wood that was stained red, his chair was made of a rich Sicilian leather.

Behind his desk was a large open window that allowed a great view of Downtown Chicago which was a sweatbox at that time of day and around that time of year.

Off to the right of his desk was a seventy-pound punching bag, and to the left was a small desk that displayed the plaque that his boss got him saying that he was a Medal of Honor recipient.

As he hung up his jacket, he took a seat at his computer and powered it on to see that he had three outstanding emails from several other Midland Tech company locations across the country.

The first email mainly talked about problems with the cameras on the perimeter of their factory.

The next email was from one of their offices in Milwaukee that was having problems with their guards sleeping on the job.

The final email was from the security chief at the shipping port in New Orleans about looters sneaking into the docks trying to steal some of the merchandise that was to be exported to countries in the Atlantic, Carribean, and Pacific (mainly Cuba or Haiti).

Guts walked over to his drinks globe, and poured himself a tall glass of whiskey: just another day in the life of a civilian… sitting behind a desk doing paperwork and answering the problems of his subordinates.

There was a buzzing from the phone on his desk, "Mr. McNeal," his secretary, Farnese Vandimion said over the other line, "There's a lady here to see you. Says she's from Washington."

Guts walked back over to his desk, and hit the buzzer, "Tell her if she's from the Veterans Association looking for donations that I don't give out donations," he said, "But if she's from the Marine Corps to ask me more questions tell her she can fuck off."

"She says she's from Langley," Farnese said, "She has papers from the Pentagon."

Guts sat up in his chair, "Alright, send her in," he said.

The woman that entered was five-foot-five, she was probably a Mexican-Polynesian mix, she wore black high-heels, black I.N.C. Matte Opaque Tights, a knee-height Worthington Pencil Skirt, a Les Copains Black silk Button-Front shirt that had Bell Sleeves rolled up past the elbows, and a leather shoulder-holster that carried a Heckler & Koch USP Compact.

Her dark hair was down in a sleek bob-cut with spiky bangs, she had hazel-brown eyes and wore muted-pink lipstick.

"Captain Guts McNeal," she asked as she walked up to him with a manila envelope in her hand.

"What's left of him," Guts said as he sipped at his drink.

"Casca C. Cunningham," she said as she held out her hand to Guts who shook it, "I'm with Central Intelligence."

"Take a seat," Guts said, "What can I do for you, Ms. Cunningham?"

"Please," she said, "Call me Casca."

"Ok then Casca," Guts said as he swirled the glass around in his hand, "What does the C.I.A. want with the head of security for a tech company?"

"I'd like to talk about your past," Casca said.

"Figures," Guts said as he continued to sip on his whiskey.

"What's that supposed to mean," Casca asked.

"Every time I get a visit from you government types it's always the same thing," Guts said, "Griffith this, Griffith that. It seems every year you government boys grill me for hours about my ex-CO despite you have nothing to show for the hunt you've been on for the last several years."

"I assume you'd be a lot more dedicated to helping us solve this case," Casca said, "What was the motto of the Hawks? Fly like an Eagle? Dominate with force?"

"That was before this," Guts said as he pointed at his arm and synthetic eye, "The Hawks are dead, and have been for three years."

"This is not the person I was expecting to find," Casca said, "They said you were supposed to be fully dedicated to your country. Patriotic in the highest to the Marines."

"That was before they told me that I was chasing a ghost," Guts said, "Do you know how much information I gave to the M.P.s, the F.B.I., and the D.I.A. since I lost my arm and my eye? The last time I gave them information they told me that I was chasing a ghost and that there was nothing more they could do. I was betrayed by a man I trusted my life with, I lost my arm, my eye, two of my best friends, and they said they couldn't do anything about it. Anything about the fact that my friends were dead and the U.S. government isn't doing anything about the man that did this who is still out there!"

"You've become disillusioned," Casca said, "What did they use to call you? The Desert Eagle? The Hero of Wakhan Pass?"

Guts chuckled, "The Hero of Wakhan Pass," he asked, "Is that what they decided to call me?"

"You killed over 100 men during the time you and your team fought," Casca said, "You fought knowing that your men were dead and that there was no chance of them surviving."

"That's a fucking lie," Guts said, "The military knows as well as I do that Judeau and Pippin were alive when the chopper arrived to get us."

"I didn't know that," Casca said, "What I do know is they found you holding your two comrades. I know you could have run and saved yourself but you chose to stay and fight knowing you probably would have died. What I don't understand is why you've given into despair like this. You were once a proud soldier, one of the best snipers there ever was. What changed?"

"What changed was that the government I believed in doesn't believe that a viable threat to the U.S. National security is worth looking into," Guts said, "Do you know how much info Griffith could have gotten his hands on during the years we were in MARSOC? What kind of damage could he do with that Intel? More importantly, if he has that information: who is he going to give it to? I can name three organizations off the top of my head that would kill to get that information. I want to take him down."

"You might get the chance to ask that," Casca said.

Guts turned back towards her, she opened the envelope and placed a small tablet on Guts' desk.

The picture that came up first was of Void standing in front of a large open window in the shape of an open hand speaking to a crowd of soldiers dressed completely in black. Standing behind him were three others that Guts didn't recognize, but there was no mistaking the fifth, it was Griffith, almost exactly the same as the day that he betrayed Guts, Judeau, and Pippin in Afghanistan.

"One of your operatives," Guts asked.

"Yes," Casca said, "And you wouldn't believe how hard it was to get someone inside God Hand."

"God Hand," Guts asked, "Is that what they're calling themselves?"

"Yes," Casca said, "We didn't realize what a threat they had become until recently."

"Until recently," Guts asked, "What'd it take for the brass to realize we needed to go after an ex-MARSOC Major and a terrorist so heavily scarred you could recognize him if you were blind?"

Casca swiped left on the tablet to show a news article of the Station 2889 shooting that took place in New York in 2026.

"God Hand was behind that attack," Guts asked.

"Yes," Casca said, "That fact was omitted from the public to prevent an outcry."

"One hundred and twenty-six people died in that attack," Guts said, "And you decided not to tell people that there's a new terrorist organization threatening our country?"

"Well…" Casca said before there was a buzz on Guts' machine.

"Mr. McNeal, it's the boss," Farnese said, "He says it's an emergency."

"I'll take it in here," Guts said as he hit the answer button, he picked up the phone, and placed it against his ear, "Morning sir."

"We have a problem," his boss, Adam Cross said over the other line, "Our factory in Detroit is under attack. They've taken hostages."

"The helipad," Guts asked.

"You know it," Mr. Cross said, "See you down there."

Guts walked around the desk before looking back at Casca who was watching him with a confused look on her face.

"You coming," Guts asked as he pointed at the door.

Casca picked up the file, and walked out the door with Guts.

 _Duty calls…_


	4. Return to Duty

**Part 4 – Return to Duty**

The VTOL parked on the helipad connected to the side of the building was almost exactly the same as the Quinnjet from the Marvel Universe.

Mr. Cross was a large six-foot-two male with black hair that had a 'Sweeny Todd' style hair highlight the followed the crest of his skull to the crown. He wore black Irish leather shoes with tailored Hermès black and white pinstripe suit pants, a white Anna Matuozzo shirt, and a black silk waistcoat that had gold inlays in the abdomen area.

What was unique however was the fact he had an implant in his forehead that would help him improve his social skills, and he had replaced the bones, tendons, and muscles on and in the index, middle, and fourth fingers on his left hand all the way down to the wrist which was all made of the same black-titanium alloy that Guts' synthetic arm was made of. Save for since Guts' arm was meant to replace a lost limb, Mr. Cross replaced those three fingers and tendons to combat the carpel tunnel syndrome he had started to develop in those fingers.

"Who's this," Mr. Cross asked as Guts and Casca walked towards the VTOL.

"I'm afraid that's…" Casca began before Guts cut her off.

"This is Agent Cunningham, she's with Central Intelligence," Guts said as he boarded the VTOL, and extended his hand to Casca who entered on her own accord.

"You aren't thinking of stealing my boy away from me are you," Mr. Cross asked, "You seemed to be done with him the second he lost his arm and got his Medal of Honor."

"Has Detroit S.W.A.T. responded," Guts asked.

"Yes," Mr. Cross said, "The attackers have made no demands yet, but we do know the leader is calling himself Bazuso."

"Bazuso," Casca and Guts asked at the same time.

"You two know him," Mr. Cross asked.

"About six-foot-eight," Guts asked.

"Yes," Mr. Cross said.

"Middle-Eastern skin tone," Casca asked.

"Yes," Mr. Cross said.

"Wears heavy Kevlar with a huge bulbous full-head and face helmet," Casca asked.

"Yes," Mr. Cross said.

"Carries a stock-less pump-actions shotgun with a large axe-blade like bayonet," Guts asked.

"Not sure about that," Mr. Cross said, "So that's a yes on you both know him?"

"He was once a Major in Turkey's First Army," Casca said, "General Adem Huduti took him under his wing when he was a young enlisted officer, and later recruited him into the Peace at Home Council."

"Then the coup happened," Mr. Cross said.

"Yea," Guts said, "Otherwise known as the biggest fuck up in Turkish Internal Security's history."

"You remember that," Mr. Cross asked.

"I was about eleven when it went down," Guts said, "At that time I was living with my father who was a Green Beret stationed in South Carolina. He was called into the base that night, and left me alone at the house for about twenty four hours. I missed school the following day because he wasn't there to drive me, and mom was about two states away in Tennessee."

"He must have given you hell for that," Mr. Cross said.

"Not really," Guts said, "We were in a big military town. Half the school missed class that day because their parents were called to the base in case they had to be deployed."

"Can we get back to Bazuso," Casca asked.

"Ok," Guts said as he held his hand out to Casca, "Please continue."

"After it was announced that the coup was failing, Bazuso gathered what little men he had left to spare and organized a desperate final strike against government forces that was supposed to turn the tide," Casca said, "They took up arms, and headed out onto the streets of Istanbul."

"I take it that the attack didn't happen," Mr. Cross asked.

"No, it happened," Guts said, "Just not against the way they were expecting."

"How so," Mr. Cross asked.

"They attacked us," Guts said, "A group of Green Berets that were on leave were wandering around the streets with a small group of Maroon Berets. Bazuso recognized them, and they opened fire. Three of the Greens and two of the Maroons were killed instantly. A much larger Turkish force heard that, and came running to assist them."

"Bazuso's men had rifles," Casca said, "They had armored vehicles and light machine guns."

"And he's been on the run ever since," Mr. Cross asked.

"He's been on the army's shit list ever since," Guts said, "The boys in the Green Berets have been wanting his head ever since."

"Well now we have a chance to do some good for your boys," Mr. Cross said.

"You want to interfere with a S.W.A.T. raid," Casca asked.

"Those are my employees," Mr. Cross said, "The Detroit Chief of Police and the plant manager are good friends. Luckily we shouldn't have many problems with dealing with that aspect. Plus they want a professional on the job, and Guts is the best man we've got."

"I'm sure," Casca said.

"What'll it be this time," Mr. Cross asked.

"I'll be fighting at close quarters in there," Guts said, "I need something compact."

"I have just the thing," Mr. Cross said as he walked over to the gun case he had installed in the VTOL, and pulled out an MK12 SPR.

"Nice," Guts said as he took the rifle, and racked the cocking-drive before letting if fall back into place, "There is no sweeter sound in the world."

"What kind of attachments are you sliding on that thing," Casca asked.

Guts slid a laser-pointer, duel-stage scope an angled foregrip, and something what Casca didn't recognize, "Think S.W.A.T. will settle for five thousand this time," Guts asked.

"I doubt it," Mr. Cross said.

"Can I ask something," Casca asked.

"Shoot," Guts said as he slid a suppressor onto the end of the MK12.

Casca pointed to the device attached to the side of the SPR, "What's that," she asked.

"This," Guts said as he pointed to the device, "Is something I made myself. You attack this to any rifle, shotgun, SMG, or pistol, and it emits an enormous blast of white-hot light directly at your target."

"A flashbang strobe light," Casca said.

"Exactly," Guts said.

"We're approaching the plant now," the pilot, Puck said over the radio, "Should be coming up on the left now."

"That your pilot," Casca asked.

"Puck," Guts asked, "He's our main pilot. Used to fly Apaches for the Air Force."

"Pleasure to meet you ma'am," Puck said as he brought the VTOL on the roof of the adjacent building from the factory.

As they stepped out, one of the Detroit S.W.A.T. Officers ran up to him, "You must be the company's ace," he said.

"You know it," Guts said as he and Casca followed the Officer.

"Guts," Mr. Cross called, causing them to look back at him, "Be careful, I don't want to look for another head of security."

"I'll try to keep you from giving my salary away," Guts said.

"This way," the officer said.

They walked down the steps to the command center Detroit P.D. had set up in the building across the street.

"Commander," the officer said as he walked up to his Lieutenant.

"Peters," he said as he looked up at Guts, "Who are you two?"

"Guts McNeal, head of security for Midland Tech," Guts said, then pointed at Casca, "That's Casca Cunningham, C.I.A."

"Guts McNeal," one of the S.W.A.T. officers asked as he looked over at Guts, "As in Captain Guts McNeal of the Hawks?"

Guts turned toward him and said, "That's me."

"Dude," he said as he walked over, and shook Guts' hand, "You're a legend!"

"You know this man," The Lieutenant asked.

"Lieutenant," the officer said, "Guts McNeal is a legend in the Military," he playfully slapped Guts on the arm, "Medal of Honor Recipient, top shot sniper, and slayer of 100 Taliban soldiers during the Battle of the Wakhan Corridor in Afghanistan!"

"That good eh," the Lieutenant asked, "I can see why Midland wants you to deal with this situation," he walked over to a small briefing table they had set up, and had pulled up a 3D model of the blueprint for the building, "We believe they're holding the hostages here," he pointed at the main assembly room's office, "One tight secure place."

"Nice strategic point," Guts said, "Any intel on their leader?"

"Yes," the Lieutenant said, "Inside the plant manager's office," he pointed at a large room on the other side of the building, above the plant's main offices, "Here."

"Any word on opposition," Guts asked, "Armaments?"

"Yes," the Lieutenant said, "Whoever supplies these guys are good," he pointed at a single red dot on the roof above the entrance which overlooked the courtyard, "Whoever it was supplied them with a Soviet DShK which is pointed directly at our men who tried to get into the building."

"I take it the results were less than stellar," Guts asked.

"Yep," the Lieutenant said, "We can't seem to find another way in."

"Because you didn't look here," Guts said as he pointed at a small exhaust fan on the lower-half of the roof, right next to the DShK.

"That's an exhaust fan," the Lieutenant said.

"Actually it's not," Guts said, "It was built as a back-door exit in case of a terrorist attack."

"And when were you going to tell us this," the Lieutenant asked.

"I just did," Guts said.

"Well here's something I wasn't going to tell you but now I will," the Lieutenant said as he pointed at where they believed they were keeping the hostages, "We believe the hostiles have acquired a gas bomb."

"Gas," Guts asked.

"We have yet to identify the compound in the canisters," the Lieutenant said.

"Think the best way to do that is an up close and personal inspection," Guts said.

"Your job," the Lieutenant asked.

"I'll go after the boss," Guts said as he pointed at the manager's office, "First objective however will be the hostages," he pointed to the area the hostiles were believed to be in, "First thing to do is to take down that DShK," he pointed at the red dot over the entrance.

"Where do we come in," the Lieutenant asked.

"I'm concerned about this area," Guts said as he pointed at the courtyard in the center of the building, "If they have a backup plan it will be there."

"What kind of backup plan," the Lieutenant asked.

"What do you think," Guts asked.

"Bomb probably," the Lieutenant responded, "Now big question is how you are going to get to that exhaust fan? And how are you going to take out that machine gunner?"

"I can take care of him no problem," Guts said, "The problem is we have no idea what opposition is going to be like inside that building."

"What about us," the Lieutenant asked.

"You're being compensated Lieutenant," Guts said, "Plus whatever contraband is seized, you guys get to claim it, and you're getting credit for this entire raid."

"Indeed," the Lieutenant said, "You're concerned about the welfare of your people, we should worry about the safety of the citizens of Detroit."

"That's what we're both being paid for," Guts said, "But we are dealing with very dangerous men here Lieutenant."

"Bazuso," the Lieutenant asked.

"He's dangerous," Guts said, "Unstable, and unpredictable."

"Then how do we get him," the Lieutenant asked.

"By being as unpredictable as he is," Guts said as he swung around his MK 12, "Once the DShK gunner is down, that'll be the signal to attack. Clear the courtyard, I'll get the hostages."

"I'm going with you," Casca said as she followed Guts.

"You want to take a stealth mission," Guts asked, "In those shoes," he pointed at Casca's high heels.

"I brought a spare," Casca said as she reached into her pocket, and pulled out a pair of slippers.

She removed the heels, put on the slippers, and kept moving after Guts.

"You know this is going to be a tough fighting situation," Guts said.

"I'm not afraid," Casca said as she followed him.

"This is primarily a one-man mission," Guts said.

"Do you know how to disarm a chemical weapon," Casca asked.

Guts stopped, and turned back toward her before replying, "You have a suppressor for that pistol?"

 _Guess what happens next_ …


	5. The Factory

**Part 5 – The Factory**

Casca quickly screwed a suppressor onto the end of her USP, and followed Guts around the courtyard where S.W.A.T. had set up barricades which blocked the DShK gunner's view.

"How do you do this," Casca asked as Guts ushered her up the ladder.

"Years of training," Guts said as he looked up to climb up the ladder only to catch a glimpse of what Casca was hiding underneath her skirt: a pair of Lace-Back Hiphugger panties colored antique gold (closest color I could find to the yellow skirt built into her shirt in the Anime) that showed through her skirt like a bleach stain on a black shirt.

Casca looked down at Guts to see him looking off to the right as he climbed the ladder, "Why are you…" she began before she realized she was climbing in a way that left her underwear exposed to a man she had met not three hours ago.

"Sorry, sorry," Guts said.

"I'll punch you after we take out that DShK," Casca said, "This is why I hate skirts."

"I deserve it," Guts said, "Could you do it on the left side of my face?"

"Why the left," Casca asked.

"Last time someone hit me upside the right side of the head it screwed up my implant," he said.

"I suppose I can show you some professional courtesy," Casca said.

As Guts climbed onto the roof, he and Casca took cover behind the nearest exhaust fan.

The DShK gunner turned towards the sound of feet clattering against tile, only to focus on nothing but exhaust fans.

Guts peered out from behind cover, and in one squeeze, the gunner's head exploded.

"Clear," he said as he stood up and turned around to see Casca standing up.

Guts slid his Kimber into the holster, and stood there as Casca clocked him on the left side of jaw.

Guts reached up, and wiped the trickle of blood of the corner of his lip, "Don't look up my skirt next time," Casca said.

"Good punch," Guts said as he walked up to the last exhaust fan on their little roof division, "You went to a high school and college with a boxing program didn't you?"

"Yep," Casca said before pointing at the exhaust fan, "Now how do we get this open?"

"Like this," Guts said as he reached into top of the fan, and pulled a red cord out of the top, causing the fan top pop off, and allowing him to lift the fan backwards.

As he lifted the fan, a hand shot out of the top to which Casca grabbed her USP, and aim at the hole, "Don't move," she exclaimed.

"Easy, easy," Guts said as he held his arm out to Casca, "Blue, Blue!"

"Mr. McNeal," a man dressed in security gear asked as he stood up.

"What's your name guard," Guts asked.

"Adam, Adam Keener," he said.

"How many are there with you," Guts asked.

"Thirteen," the Guard said as he helped the others out.

"Alright," Guts said, "There's a police barricade waiting for you, one by one down that ladder, and over to the cops."

"Safe room," Casca asked as the rest scrambled through the hole.

"I knew there'd be a few employees that made it here," Guts said as he handed Casca his rifle, and then lowered himself in as the last of the factory's employees climbed out.

As he landed, he looked around at the room, it was clear, no one in sight, he quickly looked up, and signaled Casca down.

Casca dropped him his rifle, and descended the ladder, "When were you going to tell me about this room," Casca asked.

"I just did," Guts said as he pointed at the door.

Casca holstered her weapon, walked up to the door as Guts aimed the door, Casca grabbed hold of the door, and looked at Guts who nodded.

Casca pulled the door open as fast as she could, and two men dressed in black tactical gear with white vests, elbow pads, knee pads, helmets, face guards, and weapons turned around to see them.

The one on the right that carried a CZ 805 BREN raised his rifle only for Guts to put a 5.56 bullet through his right eye.

The one on the left that carried a raptor grip shotgun with a ballistic shield on the front raised his only for Guts to fire one round through his arm, causing him to lose his shotgun, and one final round in between the soldier's eyes.

"Nice one," Casca said.

"Thanks," Guts said as he walked out the door, followed by Casca.

As they walked through the door, they found themselves in a room full of hostile guards.

"How are we going to deal with this one," Casca asked.

Simple," Guts said as he put his rifle down, drew his Kimber, and pointed at the two at the far end of the room, "Think you can get those two?"

"If you knew me you wouldn't be asking me that," Casca said.

"Good," Guts said as he grabbed hold of the hostile that just turned the corner with his own BREN, struck the man in the nose with the barrel, flipped him onto the ground, and fired one round through his forehead.

One of his buddies heard the discharged gunshot only to have Guts nail him in the throat with a single .45 bullet.

Casca then popped out from behind cover, and fired two rounds at the hostiles on the far side of the room.

The first shot caught the guard high in the side of the neck, and dropped him like a stone.

The other shot caught him in the shoulder, as the bullet spin sideways, Casca then fired another two times: the first shot missed completely, but the other shot hit him high in the jaw.

The others saw that, and turned around to have Guts come running at them: the first one raised his shotgun to fire only to have Guts fire one round through his knee.

As he fell to his knee, Guts fired one round into the head of hostile that was right next to the one he kneecapped.

Guts then fired another round into the arm of the one closet to the two that Casca took down, causing him to lose his grip on his MP7.

Guts stunned the hostile he kneecapped with a knee to the head, and took down another hostile.

He then wrapped his arm around the hostile he stunned and kneecapped, and stood up, using him as a human shield as the others opened fire.

It is important to remember that when taking cover behind a person to kiss your own ass goodbye because it doesn't do shit.

Using a human shield is just another way to get bits of bone stuck inside you, best case scenario, but luckily the hostile Guts kneecapped was wearing body armor.

As soon as they went to reload, Guts peaked out from behind the now bullet-ridden hostile he was holding, letting him fall to the ground, and allowing him to fire another two shots.

As he reloaded his Kimber, Casca walked out from behind cover with Gut's Mk12 in her hand, "I knew you would be impressive," Casca said, "But damn."

"Thanks," Guts said as he took his Mk12 when Casca handed it to him, "You're not bad yourself. Why are you stuck with this job?"

"Long story," Casca said as she and Guts walked up to the exit to the room.

"I'm sure we have time," Guts said as he opened the door, and heard three men coming up the hall.

He and Casca jolted into cover as they turned the corner to continue down the hall.

"It all started back when I was a rookie field agent," Casca said as she covered the right hallway while Guts covered the left, "I was tasked with a small assignment in Beirut, we were to bring in the lieutenant of a terrorist cell that had been responsible for a number of attacks against NATO allies, including several bombings against British, French, German, and American Embassies in foreign countries. Something went wrong during the mission, and a member of our team was brutally attacked."

"How bad," Guts asked.

"Horribly," Casca said, "It aches every time I think about it. When the Agency had finally located him, I went ahead to do the job."

"You carried out a hit all by yourself," Guts asked, "To satisfy a vendetta?"

"You're damn right I did," Casca said as they continued down the hall, "You got a problem with that?"

"What do you think I'm doing," Guts asked as he lined up next to the entrance to the lab – right about where Detroit SWAT said the bomb was located.

Three hostiles were standing around a small device that was responsible for manufacturing machine parts.

Something that Guts knew well, when he knew what to do, a wicked smile crossed his face.

"What are you planning," Casca asked.

"Watch this," Guts said as he took aim at the machine.

One of the guards saw Guts, and began to raise his BREN to fire only for Guts to fire first.

"After all that," the guard said, "And you missed?"

"I wasn't aiming for you," Guts said.

The guards turned around to see the chain cable hold the overly-heavy steel doors shut during manufacturing was half-broken, and what was remaining was about two seconds away from snapping.

Actually, one second, because the guard barley had any time to open his mouth before the cable snapped, and the overly-heavy steel doors violently flew open.

For the terrorists standing there, it was like a freight-train slamming into their sides which knocked them onto their sides.

Guts and Casca walked up to them to see them lying on their sides, wallowed over in pain.

"What do we do with them," Casca asked.

"What else can we do," Guts asked as he raised his rifle.

"Wait," one of them exclaimed as he held up his hand, "The bomb upstairs with the hostages. I know the code."

"You traitor," one of them said through gritted teeth.

Guts switched his aim, and unloaded two rounds into the man's head, "Continue," he said.

"The code is 6750," the man said.

"How do I know you're telling the truth," Guts asked.

"I'll go with you," the man said, "I'll enter the code myself."

"Ok," Guts said as he picked the man up by his collar, "But no funny business, or else," Guts pulled out his 1911, and unloaded the clip into the third man's head.

"No problem," the man said as Guts dragged him upstairs where the hostages were all tapped to the chairs.

"Alright," Guts said as he placed the man in front of the bomb, and reloaded his 1911, "Try anything funny, and I'll make sure you go before the bomb goes off."

"I'll work as well," Casca said as she picked a pair of scissors up off the desk in the office, and began cutting the hostages free.

The man reached up, and input the code into the machine which beeped three times before powering down.

Everyone in the office breathed a sigh of relief, "Looks like you get to live," Guts said before turning to the hostages, "Now, everyone stay seated, and keep an eye on this one. Detroit police will be here within the hour to take you out of here."

"Wait," one of the workers said, "My wife, Rebecca. She's in the manager's office."

"You are," Guts asked.

"Name's Robert Jacob. I'm the factory supervisor," he said.

"I'm head of security for the entire company," Guts said, "Where's your wife?"

"She's in the manager's office," Robert said, "Her name is Rebecca Jacob. Please, you have to help her."

"The leader has her hostage," Guts asked.

"Yes," Robert said.

"I'll take care of it," Guts said as he holstered his 1911, "I'll keep her safe. Keep an eye on him, we'll take care of the rest."

Guts and Casca walked out of the room, and into the factory's offices, where surprisingly, they didn't find anyone.

Up ahead, they could hear someone talking, and a woman whimpering: it must have been Bazuso.

"Right now, I couldn't care less lady," the man said, "Right now, I want access to the company's shipping records."

"I was trying to tell you," the woman said, obviously terrified, "This is just a manufacturing plant. We don't have those kind of records."

"Then who would," the man asked as what sounded like him throwing the desk across the room thundered through the door.

"I don't know," the woman said, "Someone higher up in the company."

There was the sound of a shotgun being pumped, "And who would that be," the man asked.

Guts then kicked the door down to reveal that their suspicions were right: Bazuso was there, and he was holding the plant manager hostage.

"You could start here," Guts said as he aimed his rifle at the towering man.

"And you are," Bazuso asked as he leveled the shotgun towards Guts as Casca stepped in behind him, aiming her USP at him as well, "And who is that nice piece of ass?"

"I'm Guts McNeal," Guts said, "I'm the head of security for the entire company."

"Just my luck," Bazuso said, "The head of the company comes in on his white horse to save the day. Now who's she?"

"This is Agent Cunningham," Guts said, "C.I.A."

"Tell me," Bazuso said, "I never shy away from a good fight," he then pumped the shotgun until there were no shells left inside, "You game for a little one-on-one."

"You and me," Guts asked as he put his rifle down, and flicked his hand downwards revealing a 7-inch K-Bar knife with a saw-tooth on the back-end, "Let's dance!"

Bazuso charged toward Guts who dove out of the way of the swing, then swung towards Bazuso who used the metal of his shotgun to deflect the swing.

Guts dodged the next swing, the full-force of the swing could have easily cut through the head of an ox.

Guts swing at the exposed piece of Bazuso's armor, cutting into his stomach, as Bazuso stumbled forward, he examined the blood on his hand, and turned back toward Guts, "Consider me impressed," he said as he removed his hand before charging back at Guts.

Guts grabbed hold of the tubular magazine, and as Bazuso reached to grab his throat, Guts simply held out his knife, and Bazuso skewered his entire wrist on the blade.

As he screamed in pain, Guts kicked Bazuso backwards, stripped him of the weapon, and embedded the ax-headed bayonet into the large man's skull: the Kevlar helmet offering almost no resistance.

"Wow," Casca said as she walked up to Guts, "They said you were impressive, but damn."

"Thanks," Guts said as he held his hand out to the factory manager who took his hand, "You Rebecca Jacob?"

"Yes," Rebecca said, "My husband, Robert is he?"

"He's fine," Guts said as he knelt down to Bazuso, "Safe. Alive."

Guts removed the bayonet from Bazuso's skull, and placed it next to the body before removing the helmet.

"That's him alright," Casca said.

"Indeed," Guts said before pointing at the area above Bazuso's right eye, "Look there. He's been hardwired."

"Let's see what he's hiding," Casca said as she turned Bazuso's head sideways where they found a small panel on the side of his head which contained a small chip, "This could be the key."

"We can examine it back at the main building," Guts said as he picked his rifle back up before walking over to Rebecca, "Ms. Jacob, if you are asked questions, tell them nothing about us, ok?"

"Yes," Rebecca said, "Perfectly."

"Good," Guts said, "You have a nice day."

 _What do you think of that_ …


	6. A Quiet Drink

**Part 6 – A Quiet Drink**

Arriving back at Midland Tech was relatively unimpressive, especially after leaving the MK12 in the chopper.

"You always operate like that," Casca asked as she followed Guts back to his office.

"On occasion," Guts said as he walked up to Farnese who was sitting at her desk.

"Back already," Farnese asked as she looked at her watch, "That's got to be a new record," she then looked at Casca, "Trying to show off in front of the Agent?"

"Oh shut up," Guts said in a joking manner before handing the piece of hardware he and Casca pulled out of Bazuso's head to her, "Could you run this down to your brother? See what he can rip out of it?"

Farnese picked it up, it was slightly bloody, and wrapped in a plastic bag, "Where'd you get this thing," she asked, "You pull it out of someone's ass?"

"Nope," Guts said, "Someone's skull."

Farnese chuckled before looking back up at Guts to see he was dead serious, and simply stood up, "I'll give these to Serpico," she said.

As they entered Guts' office, Casca spoke up, "Serpico," she asked.

"Farnese's half-brother," Guts said as he sat back at his desk, "Two of them never got along. Their father sends them here, they instantly mature."

"Thanks to you," Casca asked.

"Ex-Marines can dish out a little discipline," Guts said.

"I'll bet," Casca said as she sat across from Guts, "You were exactly as described, Captain."

"As stubborn as he is scarred," Guts asked.

"Dedicated to keeping people safe," Casca said, "Someone who isn't afraid to take a life to save a life. They didn't mention you concealed a knife in your arm."

"This," Guts said as he flicked his robotic hand outwards, causing the 7-inch knife to jump into his hand before spinning it around in his palm a few times, "I had the sling custom made when I got the arm."

"So you'll have a spare weapon within arm's reach," Casca said.

"Yep," Guts said, "It can be easily removed, just in case."

"One thing I don't understand though," Casca said, "What they were after at that plant."

"I think we'll find out," Guts said as he checked his watch, "Seems to be getting close to dinner time," he looked up at Casca, "What do you say we toast to our new partnership?"

"You'd drink with a C.I.A. Agent who slapped you," Casca asked.

"So long as it's a small drink for me I'd be ok," Guts said.

"So you want to get me drunk then," Casca asked.

"Maybe," Guts said, "But then again what better way to bond with someone than to have a nice quiet drink?"

"You know somewhere we can have a good meal and a good drink," Casca asked.

"You're in Chicago," Guts said as he stood up, and gently walked up to hold out his hand to her, "It's not hard to find a place like that."

"If it's on you, then yes," Casca said as she accepted his hand, and stood up to walk out the door with him.

Farnese looked up to see them walking out the door, "Farnese," Guts said, "If I have any calls, direct them to my cell, and let me know when your brother is finished."

"As you wish, sir," Farnese said.

When Guts and Casca walked into the car park, Casca raised a question, "So where's the motorcycle?"

"What," Guts asked.

"Come on," Casca said, "Someone like you? Where's the enormous motorcycle?"

"I don't drive a motorcycle," Guts said as they cruised up to his Corvette.

"This is your car," Casca asked.

"Yep," Guts said as he opened the door for her, "Ma'am."

As Casca stepped in, Guts walked around to the driver's seat, and once he climbed in, Casca was running her hand down the dashboard, "This is nice," she said, "All original?"

"Almost," Guts said as he started the engine, and put his car in reverse, "There are a few pieces of the engine that had to be replaced with modern parts in order to keep it running."

As Guts drove out of the carpark, Guts drove only a few blocks before pulling into a small parking area.

After stepping out, Casca looked around: there were right in the middle of downtown Chicago, the SEARs tower off to her right, the river just half a block away, and a nice restaurant across the street.

The two of them crossed the street to the restaurant, obviously modeled after a pub, and above the entrance was "West Chester" in big, bold gold "Times New Roman" letters.

As Guts opened the door, Casca could smell the beer, Irish whiskey, and scotch. Not to mention fish, lamb, and stale peanuts.

As Guts entered behind her, a young woman, no older than twenty walked up to them: she was wearing a pair of black high-heels, black stockings, a blue skirt with a white shirt, and a blue vest. Her hair was auburn brown, long, and shoulder-length. She was a very beautiful young woman, and you could tell by the way she was looking at Guts she had a thing for the brawny ex-Marine.

"Hello Guts," she said.

"Hello Lindsey," Guts said.

"Table for two," Lindsey asked.

"Yes," Guts said, "Could I have the 'special booth' this time?"

"The booth," Lindsey asked, "You must really like this girl then."

Guts frowned at her, and she simply sighed, and directed them to a booth towards the back of the restaurant. Above the booth in a gold plaque was the word 'sung'.

"Snug," Casca asked, "That supposed to mean something?"

"It just means a cozy setting," Guts said as he took his seat on the left side of the table.

As Casca climbed in, she instantly recognized what Guts was talking about: the bench she was sitting on was extremely comfortable. The cushion was nice and soft, the leather was not too cool, but not too warm, and there was still plenty of space for her.

"Pretty nice," Casca said, "So we're partners now?"

"If it means I can take on Griffith, then yes," Guts said.

A lone waitress then walked up to them, and handed them two menus, "Hello Guts," she said.

"Tammy," Guts said.

"Who's this," Tammy asked.

"New coworker," Guts said.

"Ok then," Tammy said, "What'll it be?"

"Bushmills Black on the rocks, and a glass of water," Guts said.

"And for you," Tammy asked.

"Guinness," Casca said, "Clean glass."

"Of course," Tammy said, "I'll be back to take your orders."

"Does every girl in this town want to fuck you," Casca asked.

"Pretty much," Guts said as he looked at his menu.

"And how many have you fucked," Casca asked.

"What kind of guy do you think I am," Guts asked as he looked up from his menu, "I'm not interested in one-night-stands."

"And yet you're on just why of half-a-million a year," Casca said, "I'm surprised you haven't found someone to give half of that to."

"I've had my heart broken one to many times," Guts said, "My last girlfriend cheated on me, and then tried to blame me for it."

"Sounds like a bitch," Casca said, "You should probably learn to meet better girls."

"I would," Guts said, "If I looked for the right qualities. Most of the girls I've gone for are beautiful on the inside, but are heartless bitches."

"Same for me," Casca said, "A number of them were only interested in me because of this," she gestured to her body, then pointed at her heart, "Not because of this."

"Sorry it's hard," Guts said, "Most of us aren't heartless bastards."

"You fought Bazuso like a heartless bastard," Casca said.

"I showed him the same kind of courtesy he showed our men in Turkey," Guts said, "It was mutual."

Casca chuckled as Tammy brought over their drinks, "Whiskey and water for the hunky bucket of water," she said before turning to Casca, "And a Guinness for the secretary."

"Secretary," Casca asked.

"Leave it," Guts said as he held out his hand, before looking at Tammy, "Tammy, we talked about this. Let's please be reasonable."

"Fine," Tammy said as she pulled out her clipboard, "What'll it be?"

"The curried Fish & Chips for me," Guts said.

"And for you," Tammy asked as she turned towards Casca.

"Shepard's pie," Casca said, "No cheese, please."

"Of course," Tammy said.

As Casca picked up her glass to begin drinking, Guts noticed something, "Hold on," he said as he held out his hand, before taking the glass, and examining it closer, "She didn't let is cascade."

"Good shit," Casca said.

"And it looks like she spat in it," Guts said.

"Bitch," Casca said.

"Don't worry," Guts said as he passed her his drink, "Have mine."

"You sure," Casca asked.

"Let's see what she'll do when she sees this," Guts said.

As Casca took a swig, she looked down at the drink, and said, "Looks like she did something to yours as well. It taste like cherry whiskey."

"Cherry bitters," Guts said as he pointed at the glass, "Every time I've come here, she's tried something different to try and make the drink taste better."

"Kind of nice," Casca said.

"Despite how she's treating you," Guts said.

"We'll see how she deals with that later," Casca said.

The two of them chuckled a little bit, luckily it was out of sight of Tammy, otherwise she would have taken Casca's order, and thrown it in the trash.

It didn't take that long for their food to come out, and for Tammy to see that Guts and Casca had swapped drinks.

Casca lifted the water glass, and raised her right eyebrow in a 'how do you like them apples' expression.

As she placed their food in front of them, Casca noticed that Tammy was planning another 'sorority prank' on her: she said no cheese, and there was clearly extra cheese on the pie.

"Swap," Guts asked.

"Sure," Casca said.

As soon as Casca took a bite, she knew that Guts had an amazing taste in food: the fish itself wasn't covered in curry, it was marinated in curry spices, and the batter itself had curry spices in it. As did the chips (fries for those here in America). The tartar sauce, meanwhile tasted homemade, and it tasted extremely fresh.

The Shepard's Pie that Guts was eating was also very good, the lamb was very nicely ground, the potatoes were very soft, and the vegetables and cheese weren't too shabby.

As they finished eating, Guts felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. His phone was roughly the size of an iPhone 11, but the entire center of the phone was almost completely clear acrylic, the outside was made of some kind of chrome metal, and it was wrapped in a case that had the symbol of Midland Tech stamped into the face.

It was Farnese, "Go ahead," Guts said as he answered the phone.

"Guts, there's been an explosion at the labs," Farnese said, kind of panicking.

"What," Guts asked, drawing Casca's attention.

"The lab's on lockdown," Farnese said, "And Serpico's not responding."

"I'll be right back," Guts said as he hung up his phone, and placed a $50 note on the table, "There's been an explosion back at the lab."

"Let's go," Casca said as she stood up, and followed Guts out of the restaurant.

The two of them ran out to Gut's Corvette, and after jumping in, Guts fired u the engine, and floored it back toward the company.

As they pulled up to the parking garage, Eddie opened the gate, and waved at Guts with his Kriss SMG.

Guts drew his Kimber as he exited the car, and ran into the building to see security ushering him down the stairs towards the lab.

The lab however was in the basement of the building, and when they arrived at the entrance to Serpico's office, Farnese was waiting outside the door with several of the security guards, and one of the medics on site.

"Boss," one of them said, "We tried open it, but the lab went into security lockdown."

"Stand back," Guts said as he walked up, and punched in his security clearance.

 _Guess what happens next_ …


	7. Somewhere in Chicago

**Part 7 – Somewhere in Chicago…**

As the door opened, Guts charged in first with his Kimber extended, and saw Serpico cowering underneath his desk.

His workbench had a large burn mark in it, and there was clear shrapnel stuck into the walls.

He walked over to him, and knelt over the table to look down at him.

"Boss, is that you," Serpico asked.

"Lying down on the job again," Guts asked as he gestured for him to come out which Serpico obeyed, "You had us worried sick."

"Sorry, sir," Serpico said as he stood up, and brushed himself off, "I was examining that device you sent back, and it just exploded."

"That's what that is," Guts asked as he pointed at Serpico's workbench, and holstered his Kimber.

"Yes," Serpico said as he walked over to the bench, and picked up the destroyed cord that he had plugged into the device, "I was downloading what was inside when I came across a rogue program that activated some kind of self-destruct protocol."

Guts ran two fingers down the scorch mark on the table, and brought it up to his nose, "Plastique explosives," he said.

"Bazuso stuck a lump of c4 into his head," Casca asked.

"My guess is he used semtex," Guts said, "Semtex is slightly more powerful that c4, more lightweight, and is unbelievably pliable."

"That's my guess as well," Serpico said.

"What was the protocol," Guts asked.

"It was a message," Serpico said.

"A message," Guts asked.

"For you," Serpico said.

Guts turned towards the security officers, "Everybody out," he exclaimed, "Back to work! Now!"

The security officers saluted Guts, and walked out, along with the medic as Farnese walked over to the door, and locked it behind them.

"Pull it up," Casca said.

"Who is this," Serpico asked.

"Casca Cunningham," Guts said, "She's with Central Intelligence."

"Then in that case, she's going to want to see this," Serpico said as he lifted his computer which was hanging on a guide arm off the side of his workbench.

As he powered up his computer, Guts was concerned as to what kind of message Bazuso would leave behind for him, a former MARSOC Marine who he had never known before today.

As Serpico powered up the computer, and pulled up the message, Guts realized that the message wasn't from Bazuso… it was from Griffith.

"Guts, my old friend," Griffith said, "What's it been, three years? If you're listening to this, it means that Bazuso is dead, but that doesn't matter because it also means our objective has been successful, and soon, I will be as well. And I can't wait for you to see my greatest creation. Goodbye old friend, and good luck trying to stop me."

"He's taunting you," Farnese said.

"It's more than that," Casca said, "He's daring you to come after him."

"Dare accepted," Guts said before he turned towards Serpico, "Can you tell where this came from?"

"Give me a moment," Serpico said as he ran a few quick algorithms.

"I don't know if he can crack that," Casca said, "The God Hand usually double-encrypt their mission drops. It might take…"

"Done," Serpico said.

"Surprised it took you that long," Guts said.

"How'd you do that," Casca asked.

"Serpico here is a computer science wizard," Guts said as he put his hand on the twenty-year-old's shoulder, "He can adapt to any form of code you give him, should the need arise. Which is one of the reasons his father sent him to me. He was arrested at 11 for trying to hack into NASA to try and get a diagram for his bedroom wall."

"That smart," Casca asked.

"IQ of 196," Guts said as he ruffled Serpico's hair.

"Guts, cut that out," Serpico said as he fixed his hair.

"Come on young blood," Guts said, "I'm only fooling. Come on, tell us where it's coming from."

"Ok," Serpico said as he opened the triangulation program he was developing for Military Intelligence.

The software zipped across multiple satellites around the country before zooming in on somewhere they weren't expecting, "That can't be right," Farnese said.

"What," Casca asked.

"It's coming from Chicago," Guts said, "By the looks of things it's coming from the docks just north of the projects."

"A lot of abandoned docks left there," Serpico said.

"What better place to hide an illegal operation," Guts asked before looking at Serpico, "Get Dragon Slayer."

"Yes, sir," Serpico said as he walked into the back.

"Dragon Slayer," Casca asked.

"My most trusted friend," Guts said.

Serpico walked back into the room carrying rifle case, and as he set it on the table, Casca could see a smile cross Guts' lips.

Guts popped the latches on the case, and what was inside was an AR-15 and what appeared to be a large laptop case. The rifle was customized with a Luth-AR MBA-3 stock, a 15' barrel, a quad-rail barrel cover, a Magpul angled foregrip, a bipod, one of Guts' flash-bang strobe-lights, and a Nightforce NXS scope with a sidewinder sight that had an attached EOTech Model 300 red dot sight. It was also painted like dragon scales that were painted grey and had a few brown scales placed at random places on the rifle.

"Nice," Casca said, "He looks reliable."

"He is," Guts said as he removed the rifle, and quickly took apart the upper and lower assembly before stuffing into the large laptop case which was just big enough to store the rifle.

"I have six mags," Serpico said as he handed Guts six magazines.

Casca instantly recognized what made Guts trust this AR-15: it was chambered in .458 SOCOM, and he had loaded his mags with .458 controlled fracturing rounds.

"What about me," Casca asked.

"Boss," Serpico asked.

"Go ahead," Guts said.

Serpico went into the back, and retrieved a smaller gun case which he placed on the table in front of Casca, "Put the finishing touches on the little devil yesterday," he said, "Been dying for someone to try it out."

Casca opened the case, and inside was what appeared to be a life-firing copy of an airsoft FN P90 Predator with an extended fore-grip, and was painted matte red with raised scalloped flames running up the buttstock toward the grip.

As Casca picked it up, she noticed the difference, "Its light," she said.

"I milled all the parts out of carbotanium, right here in my shop," Serpico said, "The little devil should be about five pounds when fully loaded."

"Is that what we're calling it," Casca asked, "The little devil?"

"Why not," Guts asked, "Sounds bad ass."

"Let's see how bad ass it is," Casca said as Serpico handed her a similar case to what guts had which contained six magazines.

"See if you can get one of our survey drones over the docks," Guts said as he pointed at Serpico, "As stealthy as you possible can."

"Right away," Serpico said as he saluted Guts.

Guts gave him a tiny salute back, and gestured for Casca to follow him.

Casca expected Guts to lead her to his car, but instead, he led her to the helipad where Puck was waiting.

"How's Serpico," Puck asked.

"He's good," Guts said as he walked up to him.

It was the first time Casca had seen Puck: he was obviously one of those 'join the military or go to jail' kids because he had had 'elf ear' surgery, and his hair had been died psychedelically light blue.

"This Casca," Puck asked.

"Yep," Guts said as he climbed into the VTOL.

"Nice to meet you ma'am," Puck said as he held out his hand.

As Casca shook Puck's hand, it was very obvious he was nervous around attractive women because his hand was shaking.

"Thanks," Casca said.

"Ease up Fairy Boy, or you'll sprain something," Guts said.

"Sorry boss," Puck said, "You know I get nervous around pretty girls."

"So long as you can fly as well as you do, you could be hyperventilating right now," Guts said.

"Nothing can distract me from my flying," Puck said.

"Good man," Guts said, "Now get up there, we need an approach to docks just north of the projects, as quiet as possible."

"I got you, boss," Puck said, "I can stay just below the fifteen-foot minimum for radar if you want."

"You've impressed our CIA girl with your earlier flying," Guts said, "You don't have to impress her any further."

Casca could hear Puck chuckle underneath his breath as Guts twisted a suppressor onto the end of his AR-15 while the VTOL lifted into the air.

"What's your plan of attack," Casca asked.

"Right now, some intelligence gathering is what we need to do," Guts said as he grabbed a pair of what appeared to be a short-sleeved diving suit with individual lines of some kind of black material running horizontally across the suit, and handed one to Casca, "Put that on underneath your clothes."

"Excuse me," Casca asked.

"We might not have the element of surprise here," Guts said as he stepped out of his boots, "And we'll be horribly outnumbered," he then undid the buckle on his pants, and pulled off his shirt, his absolutely scarred and muscular chest in full of Casca, "Serpico has been finishing these a few months ago," he placed the suit down on the table, grabbed his Kimber, chambered a round, and fired two shots into the chest which flattened on impact, "Interwoven layers of Kevlar and titanium covered in the same material as athletic yoga pants," he cleared the weapon, loaded a fresh magazine into the gun, engaged the safety, and unzipped the back, "Comfortable, lightweight, and bulletproof."

"Are you shooting up my jet," Puck asked over the speaker.

"Just putting on the suit," Guts said as he stepped into the suit, and zipped it up, "Had to demonstrate to Ms. C.I.A. here what it can do."

"Could you have done it without…" Puck began before stopping, "Who am I kidding, it's you."

"Damn straight Wings," Guts said as he finished buttoning his pants and fastening his belt, "It's still me even though I'm working with the government."

"Still, it's a dream of mine that you won't solve everything with a gun, boss," Puck said.

"Keep hoping," Guts said as he slid his shirt on, "I'm a soldier. A gun is how a soldier solves his problems, most of them anyway."

"There a place I can go change," Casca asked.

Guts walked up to a small room, and pushed the door aside, "I'm not sure if there's enough room for it to be comfortable, but you'll have absolute privacy."

"Thanks," Casca said as she walked into the room to see it was a bathroom with a toilet and a sink.

Casca began by undoing her skirt, and as she set it down on top of the sink, she stretched her legs a little: she hadn't worn a skirt in years, and right about now wearing it was agony.

Even when she was in high school where she was forced (by uniform regulations) to wear a skirt, she hated wearing them.

After removing her shirt, she kept thinking back to Guts who was probably filing down the heads on his bullets so the rounds weren't frayed when they entered the body and impeded the internal damage they could do.

The Pharaoh Eagle-Owl (the 'desert eagle-owl') is a species of owl that hunts all kinds of dangerous game: snakes, lizards, scorpions, and has an unbelievable sense for detecting movement. Rumor has it, back during Selection, Guts had spent three hours every day at the gun range blindfolded so he could heighten his sense.

Casca had never seen a Marine as handsome as him, but then again, she had to keep their partnership professional, despite her uncanny respect for him, and what he had done back in Afghanistan.

As she slid the suit on, she could feel it adhering to every contour of her body, she was in no way as ripped as Guts was, but she could probably hold her own against the ex-marine hunk.

"Hunk," Casca asked as she finished zipping up her suit, "Where did that come from? It's not as if I'm attracted to him."

She just pushed the thought aside, and slid her skirt and shirt back on before walking out to see Guts was adjusting the scope on his rifle.

"You ready," Guts asked.

"You know it," Casca said as she took her seat next to Guts, and picked up the Little Devil.

 _Guess what happens next_ …


End file.
